The Small World, The Forgotten World and the Micro-Nation

Just before our epic trip to South Island I had re-visited the Republic of Whangamomona. As I am now a passport-carrying citizen of the spin-off State it only feels correct to write a quick post on my adventure there.

With the arse rocket's immobiliser now newly immobilised I headed off in carefree mood to the beginning of the Forgotten World Highway in Stratford. Stratford is a central (farming etc.) supplies town in Eastern Taranaki and bears no resemblance at all to the Stratford in East London through which I've passed hundreds of times on the way to Liverpool Street station during my life in England. However, Taranaki's Stratford also does little to entice the passing traveler to stop over and explore its charms. A huge tuna sandwich and one bottle of the local fizzy drink, lemon and paeroa, from the high street Subway was enough for me...and, on second thoughts, I returned to fill the gas. No petrol for 135 kilometres! A hot afternoon and a pleasant drive ahead, the prospects were good.

The forgotten world highway is not one for the fainthearted and it took quite a while to weave my way round the countless hairpin bends, over three deeply cut saddles on the highest ridges and eventually arrived in the Republic around 6 in the evening. There did not appear to be too much activity, but I noted that the hotel bar was definitely open. Night would be spent in my new tent in the campsite - familiar territory from last year's visit. Nothing seemed to have changed. I was the only resident for the night, 10 dollars for the tent and free use of the showers as the coin automat was broken.

Walking to the pub refreshed from a shower, having washed off all the lemon and paeroa that had stuck to me when the bottle 'exploded' in the car earlier, it started to rain. Wet night in Whanga...

The evening was spent in the jovial company of the hotel landlord, a chatty 82 year old local who has earned the privilege of his own stool at the bar and a couple of local farmers, 'popping in' for a pint or eight after a hot day in the fields. Later we were joined by a couple of German tourists, the only other visitors in the Republic that evening.
I am now familiar with the economics and realities of New Zealand sheep farming (like the fact that it typically costs more to shear wool from a sheep than the farmer can gain by selling it) as well as some innovative, rural uses of the more common expletives of the English language. I am also the proud owner of a Whangamomona Passport, cost 3 NZ dollars, a diplomatic necessity stemming from the community's radical move to resist the redrawing of council boundaries in 1989. Wikipedia has the details. The village was recovering from the recent bi-annual Republic Day at the end of January, when the village had been swollen by 5000 eager visitors of all ages for the famous day of fun and games including, sheep racing, hill running, 10 minute helicopter flights around the republic (40 NZ dollars a ride), beer drinking, possum skinning, sheep shearing, rubber boot throwing, beer drinking and...beer drinking. In the light of all that my 3 dollars for citizenship was a minimal
addition to the republic's economics for 2009. Republic day will help
keep the village running for the next two years, no doubt. This micro-Nation has a strategy of sustainability and its citizens are clearly and cleverly willing players in the fantasy.

I have made suggestion that a wife carrying competition be considered for inclusion at the next event. Surely this could be considered a possibility for inclusion in the world championships in Finland, in just the same way as the Australians get their contestants included with full sponsorship from Finnair. There was, however, great doubt expressed as to the practicalities of such a competition. My newly found farmer friend was of the opinion that 'the local girls are all too large for that', but husband carrying might have possibilities.

The hotel bar also serves as a small museum of the village's history and activities, including an extensive collection of photographs of the local rugby team during the ages. It held some surprises for me too as now it becomes clear that not only am I a new citizen of the Republic but, who knows, possibly a relation of some of its earliest settlers from the UK. Both Margaret and Athlinda Dean featured in the historical photos from the early 20th century. More extensive investigation of the Dean family tree in future will, no doubt, reveal any genealogical connections.
The landlord John made it clear that it was time for last orders around eight o'clock and, at the apparent consumption rate of a pint every 15 minutes that was a good idea on his part. The remaining local farmer had a wife to go home to and his dog was clearly anxious in the pick up outside. (Think about it...)
Never pitch a tent under trees in wet weather!! I hadn't reckoned on the rain so the night was a short and restless one due to the trees above shedding water constantly from their branches loudly onto my tent. Giving up on sleep at 04.00 I managed to dismantle the tent and get moving, slowly up and along the mysterious, meandering unlit pass, avoiding bird life, possums and other small animals without grief. The sun was rising by the time I reached Stratford and the wider, faster roads back down to Wellington, in time for lunch. Back home I examined my new Passport. On the inside of the back cover there are some important instructions:

• This Passport is valid for 10 years
• This Passport is a valuable document and should be safeguarded. New Passports can be issued only after exhaustive inquiries are made.
• The finder of a lost Passport is requested to forward it to the nearest Republic of Whangamomona office.
• Holders of a Republic of Whangamomona Passport are required to smile a lot and be friendly and courteous at all times.
• Profits from sales of Passports to go to Marco School and community projects and groups.
• Thanks you for supporting the Republic of Whangamomona.